Coming Out
by sarah-might-be-johnlocked
Summary: This is basically what it sounds like. John and Sherlock are forced to undergo the strange but liberating procedure of slowly coming out as a couple to their friends and family. Each chapter is a short story about coming out to a person/group of people.
1. Chapter 1: Mrs Hudson

_**A/N: Hello, readers! If you haven't read my other story, Saving Him, you probably should before reading this. It will lead into this story fairly nicely and you'll get some background. Anyways, this story is going to be a series of short stories about John and Sherlock coming out to the public (you probably read that in the summary so why am I even saying that?). This one is about (spoiler alert!) Mrs. Hudson. Enjoy!**_

* * *

"John?!" Footsteps signaled his boyfriend's arrival in the kitchen. "John, I feel so awful."

"What? Why?" John's voice was careful and concerned.

"My stomach...is about to explode!" Sherlock jabbed at the pain in his abdomen. It wasn't pain-no, discomfort. Discomfort of disproportionate levels.

"Um...any other symptoms?" John was used to Sherlock overdramatizing illness. Still, he had to worry.

"My head is also going to explode! And there is mucus coming from my nostrils." Sherlock was particularly annoyed by this fact. It was a hinderance, and he was constantly sniffling and breathing through his mouth, which was dangerous for experiments. John sighed.

"Let me take your temperature, alright?" Sherlock nodded and John left to get a thermometer. When he came back, Sherlock had wrapped a paper towel around his head ninja-style.

"What are you wearing on your head?"

"It helps the pain. Take my temperature." John stuck the thermometer in Sherlock's ear and wasn't surprised by the result.

"Hundred and two. Go to bed, mister." Sherlock protested.

"I have to stay out here. My-my experiment." John shook his head.

"Go to bed. I'll make soup or something. And do we have any meds for this?" Sherlock looked confused as he walked to his bedroom.

"Medication? We don't have any medical things. I thought you would have gotten some."

"Nope. I'll go to the store. Need anything?"

"A bucket, in case. My phone. Your laptop. Tissues. Food," Sherlock listed out. John walked out of the bedroom.

"I'm getting tissues, your phone, and a bucket."

* * *

John came back from the store to find that Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen, making soup. He immediately protested, but Mrs. Hudson told him off. "I know, I know, I'm only your landlady, but I felt so bad for Sherlock. He was hungry and you didn't get him anything to eat," she scolded.

"How was I supposed to know he hasn't eaten in a few days?"

"Two," Sherlock called from the bedroom. John rolled his eyes.

"Sorry about that. Thanks so much for making the soup." Mrs. Hudson nodded.

"Oh, and may I use your loo? The one downstairs is clogged." John nodded and took the medication out of the bag slowly, along with some fruit and antibiotics. He walked into Sherlock's bedroom, meds in hand.

"How are you doing?" Sherlock was curled up in a tent of blankets, with his phone in his hand and a tissue box in the other. He looked cute, like a little kid.

"Sick."

"Yeah, yeah, well I got you some fever medicine and cough syrup. And some antibiotics."

"I don't want to take them," Sherlock said. Surprised, John protested.

"You want to get better, right?"

"Not particularly."

"God, Sherlock, I'm not your mother and you won't have to go to school tomorrow. You'll be able to do your experiments and solve crimes and things. Just take it."

"It'll taste bad though! And I'm fine here, in bed. It's comfy," Sherlock explained. John sighed with frustration.

"Just take the syrup! Do you want a reward, am I gonna have to bribe you so you'll take it?" John, caught up in his anger, didn't notice what Sherlock was doing until he pulled him in for a kiss. John kissed him back, pushing him back into bed, and they held there with their lips pressed together for a while until Sherlock broke and grabbed the cup of cough syrup. He was about to take a sip when...

"I knew it," came Mrs. Hudson's voice from the doorway. John swiveled and saw her there, leaning against the wall. She was smirking.

"I'm-Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock's voice took on a formal, protective tone as he sat up in bed and laid against the pillow, upright, and blushed brightly.

"It's fine, it's fine, I just didn't expect to walk in on you two snogging. I mean, I thought it would happen, but I never expected it," she said casually. John, shaking and embarrassed, started measuring out medicine and clearing away tissues and food scraps.

"We're very sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I'll-I'll go," John stuttered, futilely attempting to leave.

"John, we need to talk with Mrs. Hudson about how we're going to do this," Sherlock said seriously. "I'm very embarrassed, Mrs. Hudson, but I feel we were going to tell you anyway." John shook his head and turned, readying himself to face Mrs. Hudson. "

It's really okay, boys. I just hope this wasn't going on when Mary and John were married." The two men shook their heads quickly. "How long has this been going on?" Quickly, Sherlock answered, to keep John from saying anything stupid.

"We just yesterday realized our feelings for each other, honestly. Thank you for being so accepting."

"Sherlock Holmes, did you just thank me?" Mrs. Hudson smiled. "John's doing good things to you." John stood there uncomfortably as Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson bantered. Eventually, she left and the lovers stood there awkwardly.

"'Thank you for being so accepting,'" John mimicked. They both chuckled.

John was glad, eventually, for this encounter. Although it had been awkward and uncomfortable, Mrs. Hudson had been accepting and they hadn't had to keep it a secret from her any longer. They were both embarrassed, sure, but they could live their full lives now with Mrs. Hudson around them. (Well, maybe not their full lives. But that's another story altogether.)

* * *

_**Thanks for reading! This was fun to write honestly. I always figured Mrs. Hudson was a Johnlock shipper...I mean, come on. Having those two men living up the stairs would be so frustrating. You know, before she saw them snogging. So yeah. PLEASE REVIEW! I love reviews so friggin' much. Well, bye y'all. **_

_**Sarah**_


	2. Chapter 2: Mary

**_A/N: Thanks so much for those of you who have followed, reviewed, etc. I love reviews so...please do that! Okay, thanks. This one is about Mary, if you couldn't tell from the title. And there will be much sadness and many feels. Because...Mary. So enjoy that. And sorry for any Americanisms I make because I'm not British._**

**_Okay...sit back, relax, and enjoy the show..._**

* * *

John dangled his feet off Sherlock's bed, urging him to get out of bed. Sherlock groaned and mumbled, "I'm tired. Leave me alone." John knew Sherlock wasn't a morning person, but it was 1:00 in the afternoon...past morning.

"Sherlock, come on," John teased, playfully rustling Sherlock's dark, curly hair. He could tell his lover was in a bad mood, as it was later than usual and Sherlock was being ever so stubborn.

"If I get out of bed, you have to promise me something," Sherlock explained. "I want to talk to Mary." John shuddered at the sound of his ex-girlfriend's name. "We can't go on longer keeping it a secret. The longer we hide it, the angrier she'll be."

"That's not true, if we don't tell her how long we've been together," John reasoned. He giggled as he brushed his nose against the man in bed.

"Mrs. Hudson and her will get different information, and they've stayed friends even after you and Mary broke up. It just won't work."

"So we give Mary the same information we gave Mrs. Hudson," John explained. He realized Sherlock's reasoning. "But if she finds out how long we've been together without her knowing, even if it's a lie..."

"...she'll be angry," Sherlock said, finishing John's sentence. "That's the only way I'm getting out of bed. If today we talk to Mary." John rolled his eyes at his boyfriend's stubbornness, but agreed to the offer.

"Now get out of bed, you bum."

* * *

After having gotten ready (John was dressed in a creme colored fuzzy sweater, Sherlock in a blue button-down and black jeans), the pair ate breakfast and rushed out the door. Sherlock hailed a cab and they were on their way, Sherlock eager and John reluctant. They got to Mary's house in silence and rapped at the door. Mary opened the door and grimaced at the appearance of her ex-boyfriend.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"Good afternoon to you, too," John answered sarcastically.

"We're here because we'd like to speak to you about some recent things that have happened in me and John's lives," Sherlock explained with a serious, formal tone.

"Post it on your Facebook walls, because I don't want to hear about it," Mary snarled.

"Come on, Mary, be cooperative," John added angrily. Sherlock shook his head fiercely at John, a cue to be quiet and let him handle it.

"It's not something we can really post on our Facebooks. May we come in? It will be short," Sherlock said. Mary nodded and led them into her home. John shuddered when he crossed the threshold, memories of the rocky relationship that had taken place there flooding back. They sat down in the living room.

"So...what did you want to tell me?" Mary asked.

" A little while after you and John broke up, John and I developed a relationship that wasn't purely platonic," Sherlock spoke eloquently, reciting a speech he had been working on in the cab. "Because John was expressing romantic and sexual interest in me, and I was returning it, we felt the need to tell you. We hope you won't be mad," Sherlock added. Mary looked a tad angry, a tad sad, but mostly calm.

"All the times John told people he wasn't gay..." she said simply, laughing sadly. "I'm happy for you guys. I think everyone saw it coming," she joked.

"By the way, I'm not gay. I guess I'm bisexual," John explained. "It doesn't really matter, I don't think. Love is love. And I'm in love with Sherlock." Mary smiled.

"As long as you're happy, and Sherlock's happy, and I'm not a part of it, it doesn't matter to me," Mary said confidently. "Well, is that all you wanted to tell me?" The two men nodded. "Then leave." Sherlock and John stood.

"Thank you for being so understanding," John said.

"Just get out of my house," Mary requested, standing and walking to her computer boredly. They walked to the door when Mary mumbled something from the other room.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked.

"I wanted to know if John ever loved me," Mary said. Taken aback by Mary's straightforward question, John strolled into the living room.

"I think I did," John answered. "I love Sherlock now, and I did want to be with you but I've discovered that I want to be with Sherlock now. That's love for you, Mary, so deal with it. I don't love you anymore and that's that." His tone was harsher than he meant.

Mary shook her head, tears dripping onto her keyboard. She hadn't expected it to hurt her that much, or that she would feel so heavy and sad after having heard it. She had known that John didn't love her anymore, but she had never accepted it.

John rushed to her side, embracing her in a platonic hug. "I'm sorry, Mary. I'm sorry. I know. It hurts so bad." Mary nodded, letting her tears spill onto John's back. Sherlock watched from the door, not wanting to interrupt the moment.

"I didn't expect this to happen...I'm-I'm sorry," Mary breathed over his shoulder.

"Don't be sorry. I shouldn't've been so mean." Mary pulled away, patting John's shoulder and returning to her work.

"You need to get going," she said. The two men left her at her computer, wiping her tears.

* * *

"We told Mary, Mrs Hudson," John said, easing into a fluffy couch and looking up at Mrs. Hudson, who stood with her tea in one hand.

"Really? Oh, good for you." John nodded.

"It was hard. Mary was...sad."

"Yeah, but when she gets over it we get to talk about you two!" She giggled and hurried down the steps. John realized this implication.

"Aw shit."

* * *

_**A/N: Dem feels doe.**_

_**Please review! I love it when you do that. You know, all three of you. **_

_**Do any of you like Neutral Milk Hotel or The Shins or The Mountain Goats? I love them. Tell me your favorite bands. I feel like that says a lot about a person.**_

_**Okay, go read more fic! I shouldn't be keeping you from doing that, should I? Or you can go outside or something. But the Outernet is totally overrated.**_

_**So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, adieu.**_

_**Sarah **_


	3. Chapter 3: Molly

_** A/N: This chapter will be longer because it is more complex. There are slight hints of Mollylock, but Johnlock is stronger and more prominent, I promise. It involves a sensitive subject, and while I have not experienced the things mentioned in the story, I think I've portrayed them correctly (tell me if I didn't, please!). I don't want to spoil this one because I like the plot twists...so without further ado, enjoy!**_

* * *

Sherlock laid on the couch, pretending to be asleep. He listened to his boyfriend's conversation on his phone.

"Listen, Molly, we'll be out of town next weekend, but this weekend is fine!...Ok, how about five o'clock?...Sounds good. See ya then." Sherlock grimaced as he listened to John making plans with Molly. He hated to be with her-she reminded him that even with his prodigious mind, he couldn't understand feelings. His inflated ego was slightly punctured when he was with her.

"Were you on the phone?" Sherlock asked, feigning weariness. John nodded.

"I invited Molly over for dinner this weekend." Sherlock whipped his legs over the couch and stood.

"What?!"

"Calm down, Sherlock. She's bringing some boyfriend of hers over and we're going to Gondolier's for dinner." Sherlock sighed.

"I hate being with Molly," he said, pulling on the jacket he had taken off for his nap. "Fine. Who's the boyfriend this time?"

"A man named Kris? I'm not sure. But, Sherlock, you have to be nice this time. You know how it is with Molly." Sherlock rolled his eyes crankily.

"There is no 'how it is.' She's just insufferable. I'm not in love with her and she's certainly not in love with her boyfriend."

"Quit being cocky, you git. She has a crush on you. It's understandable...I'm just the only one who actually made something of it." John smiled in spite of himself at his luck.

"But she doesn't accept it. That's what bothers me."

"Just let her be. She'll figure it out herself. Nonetheless, we're going to dinner with her. It'll be fun, we'll get to go meet her new boyfriend."

"Yippee," Sherlock said sarcastically, waving his arms in the air.

* * *

"This is Kris," Molly said happily. She waved her arm to a man walking in the door, having to duck because of his unusual height. He was extremely tall, taller than Sherlock, and had brown spiky hair and a stubble. He waved, but his eyes never wavered their stony hold.

"Hello, John, Sherlock," Kris said with a strong German accent. Molly smiled timidly. She was wearing a long, modest dress and he was wearing a suit quite similar to Sherlock's.

"We weren't sure where you wanted to go. Do you prefer anything?" John asked, smiling hospitably. Molly looked to Kris, shrugging.

"Anything is goot," Kris replied. Sherlock, John noticed, was glaring at him with an intensity he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before.

"Alright, we were thinking about Gondolier's. Let me go get my coat," John said. "Come here, Sher," he mumbled to his boyfriend. Sherlock obeyed, following John to their bedroom.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently.

"You were looking at Kris as if he had just murdered everyone you love. What's wrong?" Sherlock shivered.

"There's always something wrong with Molly's boyfriends. I didn't think I'd be able to tell so quickly, but..." Sherlock trailed off.

"But what?"

"It's obvious. She's wearing a modest dress, not normal for when she sees me outside of work. She looked shy and afraid, and didn't allow herself to exhibit any opinions. In fact, she said nothing at all except when introducing Kris. Meanwhile, Kris is incredibly intimidating. And, John..." Sherlock shuddered again. "She has a bruise on her ankle, and one on her arm." John looked confused, then afraid.

"He's abusing her." John understood now. The look of contempt he'd given Kris was his protectiveness over his acquaintances, in this case Molly. He remembered how angry Sherlock had been when those men had hurt Mrs. Hudson. The man did have a few soft spots, John just hadn't expected one to be Molly.

Sherlock nodded. "We need to help her."

"How?! He's terrifying," John admitted. His boyfriend nodded again.

"That's precisely why we need to help her."

"Jesus, Sherlock."

"I know. Let's go." Sherlock pulled his coat on and John followed him out the door.

* * *

A small talk-filled taxi ride later, the had arrived at Gondolier's, a cheesy Italian restaurant which had surprisingly good food. The couples sat in a booth, Molly and Kris on one side and John and Sherlock on the other. Sherlock noticed that Kris insisted on sitting on the outside, a sign of possessiveness and dominance.

"So, have you ever been here before?" John asked, attempting friendliness with this abuser with a feeling similar to plucking his fingernails out one by one.

"I have, once. Big portions, haha," Kris said. His laugh was stony and choppy, like he was saying it rather than actually laughing.

A waiter came to their table, asking for drink orders. Kris looked at him strangely before shaking his head.

"This is strange. A man serving us. Very strange," Kris said, distracting himself with a menu.

"Why is that, pray tell?" Sherlock challenged.

"I am used to women serving me. This England, very strange. It happened in Germany, too, but...I did not go out much."

"You know, men are waiters all the time. Just something you'll have to get used to, yes," Sherlock said, smiling condescendingly.

"I guess so." There was a moment of silence until Sherlock spoke.

"How long have you two been together?" John stared at Sherlock, surprised. He assumed that this was just investigation with a guise of small talk, but he was doing very well at it.

"Just one month, but we're already close. Love at first sight, haha," Kris replied. Molly smiled and blushed, but still hadn't said anything.

Their drinks came soon. The two couples gave the waiter their orders, Kris looking uneasy as he spoke to the male server.

"So, what do you two do for a living?" Kris asked.

"I'm a doctor," John replied. "And Sherlock's a consulting detective."

"Only one in the world," Sherlock said, beaming.

"Ah, I see," Kris said, looking confused. "I am an architect. I plan out the buildings and such."

The food was laid out before them by their waiter and they were quiet for a little, chewing their food and making small comments about the good quality. Kris began to get refills for his wine, and Sherlock was immediately wary. An abusive boyfriend was bad, but a drunk abusive boyfriend was worse.

"You should probably lay off the alcohol," Sherlock remarked on Kris' third glass. He shook his head.

"I am an alcohol-tolerant man, haha." Molly had a terrified look in her eyes, like a deer in headlights. She shook her head slightly at John, and John nodded, attempting to convey that he'd protect her as much as he could.

"Come on, mate, three glasses? It's not...right," John said uneasily. A fire lit behind Kris' eyes and he stood up, the table budging slightly.

"Am I not allowed to drink as much as a prefer? Why should _you_ stop me? You are a weakling," Kris said angrily. A mix of emotions stirred in John's stomach: fear for everyone, regret for having provoked him, anger at this man for being so terrible, and pity for Molly. Sherlock stood and John withered into his seat.

"John is _not_ a weakling! And you leave Molly alone," Sherlock said. Kris looked to Molly.

"What is this man talking about? Are you having an affair?" Molly took on a mouse-like look as she melted into her seat in fear. Sherlock face-palmed mentally at his stupidity.

"No, no, Sherlock's just a friend, Kris. I'm sorry-"

"OH SHUT UP!" Kris yelled, knocking over her glass of Sprite. John could practically feel the entire restaurant wince. Many people were looking over, wondering who this maniac was. He watched as Sherlock and Kris had a yelling match, and turned, whispering to the woman sitting behind him to call the police. She nodded fearfully.

Meanwhile, a group of waiters had been called to the table. None of them seemed to know what to do.

"Who is this guy?"

"Some sort of maniac?"

"Do you think we should help?"

"Somebody help them!"

"That poor girl."

Eventually, a man John assumed to be the manager stepped in angrily.

"Who is this guy?" he asked.

No one answered, but both Sherlock and Kris were silent. They looked at the asker, emotions plastered onto their faces. The entirety of Gondolier's was silent, it seemed-you could have heard a pin drop.

"He's..." Sherlock began. "He's a monster." Just then, two policemen pushed through the crowd.

"We were called," one said.

"Please arrest this man. He's abusive and dangerous," Sherlock said, stepping out of the booth. John stood too.

"He is, I witnessed it. Molly, come on." She shook her head, tears in her eyes. Kris was still blocking her from getting out, until a policewoman pulled him out of the booth.

"You're coming with me." Molly straightened up and looked around. Everyone was still silent, watching the scene as if it was from a movie. John looked to Sherlock, who looked fantastically beautiful in his angry glory. In a moment of forgetfulness, of stupidity, and of love, John kissed him.

It wasn't a normal kiss. It was feverish and short. It was filled with regret as John pulled away quickly. The weirdest thing of all, though, was that despite all of these things, their "audience" of sorts applauded.

The couple grinned despite themselves as the restaurant exploded into clapping. With the bad guy arrested and the good guys victorious and romantic, how could they help themselves? Molly looked shocked and sad, though, and guilt immediately filled John's heart.

"We need to go," he whispered to his boyfriend. They pulled Molly out of her booth and walked away, waving as people congratulated them on their "act of heroism."

Sherlock didn't think it was heroic at all. No, it was simply that no one else was willing to do it, and it infuriated him. Kris infuriated him. Sure, Molly annoyed him, but he was still protective over her, especially when her idiotic boyfriend was so blatantly obviously abusive. He had to fight against idiocy, if anything. When John pulled him into a kiss, it was almost the cherry on top of their victory with Kris. Of course, now John looked embarrassed and guilty and regretful, which made Sherlock want to come out so much more.

Sherlock hailed a taxi expertly and they piled into the car. Molly shattered the silence as they drove away from the restaurant.

"So...you're gay," she said. Sherlock nodded. "Then why the fuck didn't you tell me?!" He turned, surprised at having heard Molly curse for the first time.

"I-I wasn't aware at first, either. I believe John and I both felt attraction towards each other. It took awhile to admit it, though," Sherlock said nonchalantly.

"Come on, I suppose John isn't gay, but, Sherlock! Oh God, all the things I did..." She blushed, remembering her attempted romantic advances with regret.

"It's fine, I just don't think I've really been attracted to many other people until John. And even then, it took awhile to really show up, plus I was suppressing it. I'd always thought I was asexual," Sherlock admitted. John's face grew hot at the indirect compliment characteristic of his boyfriend.

"Oh. Okay," Molly said, turning to the window and allowing silence to fall again like flurries of snow all the way home.

* * *

"God, that was embarrassing," Sherlock said from their bedroom, undressing. John stood in the kitchen, making tea.

"How so?" he replied.

"Everything. Kris and his idiocy and the whole scene at the restaurant and our 'daring rescue' and the kiss, which, by the way, I thought was quite nice, and talking to Molly in the cab and _everything_."

"I can understand being embarrassed in the cab. But everything else was wonderful, I think. Maybe not the kiss though. I felt so bad. I could practially hear Molly's dreams being crushed."

"I guess I'm just not an emotional person," Sherlock stated.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," John sassed. Sherlock sighed.

"It was embarrassing to get in a bloody _yelling match_ with Kris and have the entire restaurant watching, and to...expose myself, you know?"

"I don't know." Sherlock pulled on his pajama pants and walked out of the room shirtless.

"I feel like Spock. I have emotions, but they make me feel weak. Exposing those emotions was a nightmare," Sherlock said.

"I think it was humanizing. And brave. And perhaps a few drinks helped you along the way," John said, smirking. He immediately averted his eyes from Sherlock's bare and attractive chest. The shirtless man blushed, looking at the ground.

"I think it was embarrassing. And with all those people watching!" John walked over to his boyfriend, tipping up his chin.

"I think you did a bloody fine job."

And during that long, sweet, messy kiss, they could both hear applause.

* * *

**_A/N: I feel like my chapters are usually really short, after having written one about twice as long...I'm not sure. What did you guys think? This one kind of included a villain, unlike my other ones in this story. Please review! I beg of you. Thanks for reading! See you soon. I'm not sure when the next one will be up, but soon. _**

**_Okay, see ya!_**

**_Sarah_**


	4. Chapter 4: Lestrade

**_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, okay? I'm just using them like dolls to do what I want. Also, I'm not British, so they might sound a little American to you. Sorry about that as well._**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

John paced across the living room carpet, following the familiar colorful patterns.

"It's okay John, I'll be fine," Sherlock said nonchalantly. He shook his head.

"No, you'll get into drugs or something-"

"John," Sherlock said, standing and wrapping his arms around John's waist. "I. Will. Be. Fine. Go ahead, you need it. Your family misses you, I'm sure."

"I just need to know that you won't do anything awful," John said, pressing his head over the taller man's shoulder. "You need to be safe." Sherlock pressed John's shoulders.

"I will be. Just go on." The army doctor separated and picked up his suitcase.

"Love you."

"Love you, too. Back in four weeks, right?" John nodded, feeling a little teary.

"Bye, Sherlock."

He left the flat. Sherlock wondered how he would survive without John.

* * *

**Week 1**

Sherlock only ate three times the entire week. One of which was due to Mrs. Hudson's scolding.

"I can't take care of you because John's gone! Sherlock, take care of yourself!"

"I _am_ taking care of myself." Mrs. Hudson surveyed the kitchen, which had been victim to many experiments the past few days.

"Well, you aren't taking care of the flat or your stomach. You know what? I'm buying you some food. I'll just get you some groceries." Sherlock grinned.

"That's the spirit, Mrs. Hudson!"

"Now what I need is some money. From you." He looked confused.

"Money? But...I don't have money." She rolled her eyes.

"I'll just add it to your rent. And Sherlock, you have to promise you'll eat what I get you."

"Nope," he refused.

"Then no groceries for you," she said, leaving Sherlock there. He felt an obligation to eat something, so he had four large bagels and returned to his work.

"Bored." Sherlock sent a bullet through the wall and instinctively braced himself for a scolding from John. He looked over and saw his empty, depressing chair, nausea setting in. _The skull doesn't talk back_, he thought. _I don't love the skull and the skull doesn't love me._

That was when he knew there was no replacing John. He was _John_, and Sherlock had never fully accepted how in love he was until now. It was a crushing realization. He felt weak, and yet John made him stronger.

* * *

**Week 2**

Sherlock was there, at a crime scene, with the blood and the thrill and the puzzles. But he felt nothing.

"What are you getting?" Lestrade asked, bringing him out of the clouds.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Um..." He looked at the dead body. "I...I don't know," he admitted.

"What?!" Lestrade looked more shocked than angry. "Sherlock Holmes can't figure it out? _Wow_." Sherlock shook his head.

"I just can't focus. I don't know why." Greg patted his shoulder.

"It's fine. Just go back to your flat." _No, that's exactly what I _don't _want. Then I'll have absolutely nothing to do_. _  
_

"No, just let me concentrate." He tried going to his mind palace, to venture into an old memory. One of John. But it didn't work. He didn't have a John next to him, telling him he was amazing. He couldn't go home to a John, wake up next to a John. Sherlock shook his head. "I can't do it."

"Go home. It's fine," Lestrade protested.

"What would I do that? This is the only time I've been out since John left - " Sherlock winced, realizing what he just said. "And he's the only one who really gets me out."

"Ah," he said, smiling. "Then go to a museum or something. What do you do?"

"Museums are probably the most boring public areas in the entire world. I'll go to the movie theater."

"I thought you hated movies! You already know the end from the first word."

"No, to people-watch." He stood and blatantly walked out of the house, apparently to loiter at movie theaters.

* * *

**Week 3**

John was enjoying himself.

Somewhat.

It wasn't the kind of enjoying himself in which he was following a certain detective around and solving things and worrying about his own life and spending time with the man he loved. It was the kind of enjoying himself that involved a lot of smiling and knowing that these people loved him and lying about what he was doing down there in London because if they knew they'd never let him leave their house again because they _loved him_ goddammit.

It was the kind of enjoying himself in which he was always slightly full, on account of the assorted sweet things and rolls and whatnot. It was the kind of enjoying himself that wasn't really enjoying himself at all.

Because he couldn't tell any of them about the most important thing in his life. He couldn't walk around, flaunting his beautiful, sexy boyfriend. He couldn't do it. Because John was afraid. Harry never came to family gatherings like these, because she wouldn't be welcome. Sure, she could come, but she would be judged and feared and there would be chatter about her behind her back. And John couldn't do that to himself. He needed his family to support him, even if they didn't know the full story.

And, sure, there were the usual questions about Mary and his love life, and he shook them off, saying he and Mary hadn't worked out and he was still single but not really looking for a mate, thank you very much.

_Because I've already found one_, he thought. _I'm ready to get married any time soon_.

Plus, he was constantly worrying about Sherlock. Had he eaten? Had he left the house? Was Mrs. Hudson checking on him? Had he gotten to solve a few crimes or ended up shooting the wall instead? John was distracted by these questions and often wanted to call to check up on him. This would be rude, he decided, and his boyfriend probably wouldn't answer anyway.

Meanwhile, Sherlock could answer the questions John was asking himself hourly easily. Had he eaten? Barely. Had he left the house? Once. Was Mrs. Hudson checking on him? Almost every day. Had he gotten to solve a few crimes or ended up shooting the wall instead? The latter. Unfortunately.

Sherlock looked forward to John coming back maniacally. He cleaned the flat several times, excepting, of course, his experiments on the kitchen table. He ate more often, hoping his boyfriend wouldn't notice that he had lost weight-in fact, he _exercised _too, doing a few sit-ups and push-ups every day. He was doing everything he could to look put-together when John got back. Like he could do this anytime.

But the fact was, he couldn't. He could feel himself falling apart. He could feel himself physically needing John.

And, likewise, John needed him

* * *

**Week 4**

Lestrade called Sherlock again the last week that John was gone. They were still working on the case from two weeks ago: undecayed body found in a large brick house in a forest in the middle of nowhere. There was no blood, and it appeared the man had died of a heart attack. Why was the body there, then? Who put it there? It was a puzzle.

Sherlock was reasonably excited about solving a real crime. He had to tell John he'd solved at least one while he had been away. But when he got to the house, and looked at the body, he found himself distracted.

"Look, Sherlock, this isn't any less important than any other crime you've solved with us," Lestrade said as the detective slumped on the body dramatically.

"That's debatable," he muttered. "Just...I'm distracted, okay? I can't think."

"You can't _think_?! Isn't that why you're here? Come on, do better," Lestrade scolded. "I'm sorry. It's just-"

"I know. But I'm frustrated, too! I can't even concentrate on this because..." Sherlock trailed off.

"Because what?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Tell me, so I can fix it."

"You can't fix it, Gabe."

"It's _Greg_, for the last bloody time, Sherlock." The curly-haired man sighed, frustrated. He was scared to betray John's trust, and that Lestrade wouldn't take it well. Worse, he might call John or something and he couldn't have him feeling guilty for leaving or thinking Sherlock wasn't capable of being alone. _Oh, fuck it. Tell him, Sherlock. Tell him._

"It's because I love him!" Sherlock yelled. Then, more quietly, "It's because I love John. We've been dating, if that's what you want to call it."

"So...you're gay," Lestrade said after a few moments of silence.

"I suppose so."

"And..."

"Yep."

"So..."

"Uh-huh." Lestrade nodded and walked out the door.

"Please leave a message after the tone, thanks," John's recorded voice commanded gently.

"Hey, John, it's Greg. I'm calling because Sherlock told me you and him are in a relationship, and this may be some bizarre experiment, but he is kind of falling apart without you. Just give 'im a call, alright? Thanks, bye." Lestrade hung up and paced down the old hallway. Sherlock was in the other room, slumped over the body.

"Hello? John?" Sherlock asked excitedly.

"Sherlock. I got a call from Lestrade."

"Oh, no, look, I'm sorry, I just-"

"Don't be sorry. Please don't be sorry," John said. He was crammed into a coatroom, the only privacy he could get other than the bathroom. "I need to come home."

"No," Sherlock replied firmly. "You aren't coming, I won't allow it."

"You aren't okay. I know you're not okay, and I need to help you."

"Stay with your family. They need you, too."

"But I don't want to!" He realized he had yelled and quieted to a whisper. "I'm bloody bored, Sherlock. I miss you immensely. And I'm definitely coming home, because you need to eat and you need to solve crimes and I need to make sure I'm there with you. We need each other, we're in love. I'm walking out the door, I'm packing, and I'm coming to Baker Street and you better be there and you better let me in the door, because you are the most important person, most important thing in the world, and no one can keep me for four whole bloody weeks away from you. Alright?" Sherlock leaned back on the couch, looking at John's chair, realizing it could be filled in less than a day.

"I'm a selfish man," he replied, smiling. "And you are the person I need most."

"I'm already out the door."

Sherlock wasn't kept waiting. He woke from an afternoon nap to find John sitting in his chair, sipping tea and typing on his laptop.

"Oh, John, I'm sorry," he said, jolting up. He looked over his laptop kindly.

"No, it's fine Sherlock," he replied, smiling. Sherlock walked over and kissed him furiously on the lips, and John was caught setting down his tea and laptop to stand and kiss back, cupping the back of the taller man's neck.

"I missed you," Sherlock said against his lips, the flesh brushing against each other. John replied with a kiss, surprising his lover. They sat on the couch between kisses, and Sherlock lunged over John, dominating him. They kissed and kissed, Sherlock with his back arched over John's equally lowered body.

John's hand wandered a little, flickering over his chest, back, neck. Sherlock broke, looking scared. "No."

"What? No? What do you mean?" John asked.

"I-I-I m-mean...we can't have sex."

"Oh. Okay. That's okay, Sher," John replied, hoping he looked neutral.

"No, no, no, it's not your fault. I-I'm just..."

"Just what?"

"Just afraid," he admitted, biting his lips. "I don't want sex, okay? We can kiss and cuddle but when it starts involving sex I don't want it. I never have."

"Are you sure?" John was slightly aroused, and he wanted to have sex, but he respected his boyfriend's choices. He collapsed, unexpectedly, onto him.

"No, I'm not sure," he said, nestling his head into John's chest.

"That's fine, we can figure it out." He looked up, pleasantly surprised.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I understand. Don't worry about it; we're in this together, okay? Anything that happens between the two of us is both of our choices, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you. I-I love you."

"I love you too, Sherl-" His voice was muffled when his boyfriend's lips crowded away the words.

* * *

**_A/N: Aww, look at the cute couple._**

_**I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever, I've been busy and stuff. Okay, that's not a good excuse, but whatever. I hope you enjoyed this! I liked writing it, it was fun. So...yeah! Um...bye? I guess...?**_

_**Sarah**_


	5. Chapter 5: The Holmes'

_**A/N: I had a ton of writer's block writing this! In fact, I am typing this very sentence with no idea what to write! I keep starting then just giving up entirely. Ugghh...imma go see what I can do...**_

* * *

"Are you phoning them?" John asked from the kitchen.

"Yes! God, John," Sherlock replied. He sat in a chair in the living room, holding a phone to his ear.

"Hello?" said a voice from the other end. He shuddered. It was his father.

"Hello, this is Sherlock."

"Oh, Sherlock! We haven't talked to you in ages."

"I'm very sorry about that," he lied. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "John and I would like you to come visit us for a day. For Christmas. At a restaurant. We could have dinner and things."

"Really?" He sounded suspicious. "Talk to your mother about this. I've never understood you." A pang of sadness stabbed at Sherlock's heart. His father was loving, but didn't seem to care much about the two boys. He left all of it to Mrs. Holmes, not bothering to try to get to know his children. There was a moment of static then his mother's voice.

"What is it?"

"John and I wanted you to come over. We could have dinner. For Christmas."

"Oh, Sherlock. That's so kind of you. I'm almost suspicious. I think we'll be able to make it." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Wonderful! And there's no need for presents. Don't expect any from me."

"Okay. Love you. Bye." The call ended before Sherlock could say anything more. He didn't believe his mother when she said she loved him-it had never been her style to be very loving, even though she gave up many things to have children. Still, he had always felt a disconnect from his parents-his father was an idiot who didn't care about him, and his mother was disappointing in that she gave up her wonderful gifts for a family she hardly even loved. It all sickened him, the way they lied and acted like they cared.

"See, that wasn't so hard," John said, strolling into the living room.

"It's a facade, John. My family acts like this normal, loving household when we have so many underlying unresolved problems."

"Considering you and your brother, I can understand if you show your love for each other in unconventional ways," he replied, smirking.

"Christmas night will be torture."

"I wonder how many people have said that."

"Just...be there with me, okay? I need to know you love me, when my own family doesn't," Sherlock said, trying to be serious.

"I'll never stop loving you, I promise. Okay? To the ends of the earth?"

"I promise," Sherlock said, pecking his boyfriend on the cheek.

* * *

The couple walked into Maggiano's. John had his arm wrapped around Sherlock's, but quickly dropped it when they crossed the threshold. Maggiano's was a fancy Italian restaurant, the kind that had the napkins folded up in the glass goblets and the candles at each table. It was quiet, with another family murmuring in a booth in the corner. They got a table and shortly Mycroft arrived.

"I'm not much for these sorts of things, but I thought if you arranged it it must be benevolent," he said, sitting down. The Holmes parents walked in, holding hands. They sat down at the table formally, looking like they were walking into a business meeting.

"Hello, Sherlock, John," Mrs. Holmes said, nodding to each of them. John smiled in greeting, but Sherlock looked angry and solemn.

"It's very nice to see you again, Dr. Watson," Mr. Holmes said, shaking his hand.

"Oh, please, John," he replied cordially.

"And you may call us Sharon and Tom, John," Mrs. Holmes said. Mycroft and Sherlock looked as if they had smelt something unpleasant.

Small talk ensued. Sharon and Tom talked about little things, Mycroft sat on his phone ("The country needs me, Mummy"), and Sherlock and John spoke in monosyllables as they listened to the parents. They resisted questions asked about them, wanting to hear about Mr. and Mrs. Holmes' life and be able to tune out (in Sherlock's case).

"You're being quite cordial, Sherlock," Tom remarked.

"Yes, well, I have changed a bit," he replied, full of remorse.

"Good for you. John has helped, I presume. Speaking of John, how's Mary doing?" Sharon asked.

"Oh, I suppose I didn't tell you. Ahem. We got a divorce," John explained. He seemed uncomfortable and defensive, and the Holmes parents were surprised.

"Ah. Well, I hope the both of you are happy, that's all that matters," Sharon assured. "Did I ever tell you about the time when Tom..." The conversation continued like this, as she told stories.

"I'm going to use the loo," John announced after the food arrived. He stood and left, and the Holmes parents immediately dove on Sherlock.

"So they're divorced?"

"Are you two dating?"

"You seem so in love."

"Who knew you were gay?"

They shot him with interrogation, and Sherlock just paused and listened. Finally, they relaxed and finished. "We just want to know the truth."

"Mummy, Father, I am _not gay_." They nodded.

"But are you in love? That's all I want to know," Mummy Holmes said, seriousness replacing her previous excitement.

"We're just friends. I cannot understand your franticness in my love life. It is mine, after all, and it hardly even exists." Mycroft looked up from his phone, rolling his eyes.

"You sound like a teenager. 'Why can't you leave me alone, Mummy? I don't even like anyone!" he said in a whiny voice. Just then, John sat back down.

"We need to talk," Sherlock said, grabbing his arm and pulling him out the door. They walked down the street a bit, out of the Holmes' view.

"What is it, Sher?"

"My parents asked me about us." John understood.

"Ah. And what did you say?"

"I said we're just friends, but..."

"Do you want to tell them?"

"It would be liberating." This was true, but Sherlock wanted to be able to impress his parents-show that he was, in fact, a human, capable of love.

"Well then tell them!"

"You would really be okay?" Sherlock asked shyly.

"As long as you're happy, and you feel comfortable, and you love me, I'm the happiest man in the world," John replied, smiling at Sherlock's sheepishness. Sherlock pulled him under an awning and kissed him passionately, cupping the back of his neck with one hand a pulling his back up with the other. John complied, softly grazing his cheek with his hand until finding a resting place on his shoulder. His tongue poked at Sherlock's lips, receiving a quick opening so that he could explore his mouth freely. They held like this for a while, just exploring each other's mouths, out of the way and happy. Then they broke, satisfied in each other's arms, and Sherlock took John's hand as they strolled back down the street and into Maggiano's.

Mycroft was the only one facing the entrance, and he looked up and smiled smugly when they entered hand in hand. However, the Holmes parents did not turn around and didn't see the two loving men walk in. They sat down.

"Mum, Dad, can I...talk to you about-" Sherlock began, but a waiter walked by.

"Just a second, luv," Sharon said, calling down the waiter. "Can I get another water?" The waiter nodded and walked away. He sighed and crossed his arms, pouting.

"What's wrong, _Sherlock_," Mycroft asked, smiling his smug smile and returning to his phone as his brother answered.\

"Oh, nothing," he replied crossly.

"Quit pouting," Tom scolded.

"It's just-" he began, but the waiter came by with a pitcher of water for Sharon. He rolled his eyes and pouted more.

"Well if you're going to be like that..." Sharon said as the waiter left.

"I'm not being like_ anything_, Mummy," Sherlock retorted, though he obviously was.

"Fine. I'll ignore it," she said with a wave of her hand and a retired sigh.

"Just keep trying," John whispered to him. He nodded but sat in silence as Sharon continued to small talk.

Sherlock's phone vibrated, and, seeing the text, excused himself. John followed, seeing the excitement in his face.

"What's so exciting?" he asked.

"Lestrade. There's a case, and it sounds..." John rolled his eyes.

"Oh no."

"Fantastic! It's a murder."

"On a scale of one to ten..."

"Definitely a seven. At least. We need to go," Sherlock said, gaining composure after his fangirl moment.

"Nope, we aren't leaving. We organized this, remember? We should stay."

"But that could take hours. This-" He pointed to his phone. "This is an incredible case."

"Can't it wait? I mean, what about coming out?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Oh, forget about coming out! This is much more important!"

"Sherlock! This was supposed to be really special for us. I thought-I thought you were going to be good, for me, just this one time. You can't even control yourself?" John cried, putting his hands on Sherlock's bent shoulders. The excitement in his eyes diminished, until he nodded solemnly.

"I'm sorry. You're right. This can wait."

"Thank you," John said, calming down as they returned to their table.

"Mummy, Father, I'd like to tell you something," Sherlock said, sitting down. Mycroft smiled, like _finally_.

"You aren't pregnant, are you?" Tom joked, but he got a glare from the rest of the table and quieted down._  
_

"Me and John...our relationship..." Sherlock began, but sputtered out and shook his head at his plate.

"We're dating," John proclaimed directly.

Tom smiled, looking proud and happy at his son. Mycroft's lips turned up with a "good job, brother mine." Sharon, on the other hand...

Her lips were drawn in a straight, tight line. A conflict of emotions played like a movie in her eyes-anger, sadness, relief, guilt. These feelings spilled out in the form of silvery tears, which flowed silently down her face. Sherlock freaked out, nervous and afraid. He stuttered out a few apologetic syllables before she burst out.

"I'm sorry Sherlock! I'm sorry, I'm just angry! I gave up all of this life, I was a genius, and I gave it all up to have children, to continue this family, and now you and your brother throw it all away! I wanted _grandchildren_, I wanted you two to grow up and have nice wives and nice families and have children! Mycroft's all but given up on the prospect and now _you_ decide you like men, well then just be girl!" she yelled. Then she got up and left, Tom following and trying to talk some sense into her. Mycroft shook his head at his phone and left in silence, and the pair were left there in shock.

"She doesn't understand," Sherlock said stonily. "She was the only one who could ever understand, and now she doesn't." There was no emotion, simply a presentation of fact

"I understand. I understand you," John attempted.

"No, you don't." Sherlock's voice was pained, but his face was expressionless. "You just don't. And that's okay, I know you love me, but there are just some things no one could ever understand about me except her. And now I've lost her." John nodded, knowing he was right about his understanding. Then he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and settled his head on his shoulder.

"You haven't lost her forever. She'll come round," he murmured.

"Okay." Sherlock rested his head on John's, and relaxed.

* * *

That night, the two men sat in bed on their laptops. This was somewhat of a bonding time for them, to just sit and listen to each other's silence as they scrolled through emails or updated blogs. Sherlock's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock." It was Sharon.

"I have nothing about which to speak with you."

"Yes, you do."

"I'm hanging up if you have nothing to say."

"I'm sorry, luv. For lashing out. I know I shouldn't've. It isn't your fault, you're in love. I shouldn't have relied on you to make me happy, and I shouldn't have relied on possible grandchildren to make me happy. And, hey, you might turn out adopting. Whatever the case, know that I love and accept you for who you are." Sherlock was surprised.

"Have you had anything to drink, Mummy?"

"No, no certainly not! Sherlock, I was trying to be nice for once."

"I understand. I-I have had to do the same thing, and people misunderstood. So as long as you aren't lying or drunk or incapacitated in some way, I forgive you." He sighed with relief. It had lifted a burden off his shoulders to forgive his mother, and have her apologize in the first place. He was no longer so alienated.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I love you. Want to talk to dad?"

"Um, no thanks. Love you too, bye." He clicked end before she could say anything more, and sat staring at his beloved John, who was completely oblivious until he looked over.

"So that went well, did it?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. She apologized, thank God. Now I won't have to feel guilty about doing this." He kissed John on the lips, to his surprise and then contentment.

This was the life he had wanted. About a year ago, he would never have dreamed of this moment, of sitting in bed kissing John Watson. He would have waved it away as impossible, and now it was possible, _everything_ was possible. Now he and John were a couple, a bona fide _couple_, kissing and lying in bed with each other and flirting and just generally being in love, and it all became possible when John was up there on St. Bart's about to take his own life, and love was the only thing that would keep him from doing it._  
_

This was the life he had wanted. The life he still wanted, but now he had it. This was love, and he had never felt it so strongly.

* * *

_**A/N: So that turned out okay actually! Very fluffy, but whatever. Thanks for reading!**_

_***My portrayal of Mr. and Mrs. Holmes was valuable to the story and therefore a bit different from on the show, but since on the show they were shown fairly briefly I took license to weave my own story out of them. **_

_**Also, please review! **_

_**Okay, bye!**_


	6. Chapter 6: Update

Hello there, friends!

Up and coming is the finale of Coming Out!

It will be long and (hopefully) splendid. So, it will take much longer to write.

I'm not sure when it will be up, hopefully within the next two weeks. So don't lose faith in me; it's coming soon! I might make part one and two if I need to, but probably not.

Thanks so much for reading. I hope to see you in a couple of days for a grand finale.

I honestly have no idea where to begin with it. But I will figure it out and it will be good. So...that's pretty much it.

Again, thank you for reading! See you next time!

Sarah


	7. Chapter 7: Part 1

_**A/N: Hello all! Welcome back! This is just Part 1 right now. There will be more! It's mainly because I'm taking awhile writing it, plus it will be pretty long. Enjoy!**_

_**(Warning: I cried while writing this.)**_

* * *

"It was just a little thing with the government," John said into the phone.

"My brother is the government, dear," Sherlock added from the couch. He had taken to calling him "dear," which frightened John as well as melting him to pieces.

"I'm making every effort to keep them off, but after Janine and everything he's all over the tabloids. Yes, I know, I am too but he's the sexy one," John insisted as he paced the carpet habitually. Voices at the door told him the journalists still hadn't taken the hint to leave him alone yet.

"Do you want me to go take care of them?" Sherlock asked as he sprawled across the couch, bored.

"Ah, no. You'll just make them crazier," he replied. "Greg, I understand that, but publicity is just distracting! We need to be quieter about what we do. About what he does...I know, okay, we'll just do smaller cases, or make sure to have more privacy."

"There is no privacy in this business," Sherlock heard Lestrade say. He rolled his eyes.

"Yes there is, John, don't believe a word he says." John ignored him and continued.

"Okay, so we'll go to the grocery or something so they can get a few shots to circulate the media. Okay, thanks Greg, bye." He ended the call and turned to his boyfriend. "Get up, you bum. We're going to the store."

"Ugghh," he groaned, but he stood and went to the bedroom to change.

Ten minutes later they were getting ready to go, exchanging last words before they headed into the mess outside.

"Remember, the taxi should be waiting out there so we can just hurry there," John advised.

"Do I smile? Ignore them? Yell at them to fuck off? I still don't know how to do this," Sherlock whined.

"I'm just going to ignore them. I don't know how to do this either, but that's what the celebrities do in tabloids, it seems."

"Okay. Love you," he said, opening the door.

The journalists seemed to have grown bored of waiting for the pair to come out, so they were just standing around and talking, but as soon as there was movement behind the door the grabbed their cameras and recorders and notepads. The two men walked out, swimming through a sea of flashing lights and yelling. They reached their cab and slammed the door behind him.

"Whew, that was strange," John commented.

"Yes, well," Sherlock said, grinning. "I am the sexy one." They both laughed into a comfortable silence until they arrived at the grocery. They stepped out of the taxi and were barely confronted by anyone except for an excited teenage girl.

"Hello, are you Sherlock Holmes?" she asked, blushing. She looked simultaneously about to cry and about to run around screaming with glee.

"Ah, yes, I am," Sherlock replied, smiling slightly.

"Can I get a selfie, please?" She was almost bouncing with nerves and excitement.

"Um, sure. Would you like John to be in it as well?" John was surprised at how friendly he was being. Usually with people like this, he would deduce them into oblivion or be rude. But Sherlock was smiling fondly at the girl as she took out her phone.

"Sure, yes," she said. John got on one side of her and Sherlock on the other, and she snapped the picture. "Thank you so much!" She took off across the store.

"That was...strange," Sherlock said uneasily. "Something isn't right. Where is she going? Why is she-" It all happened in slow-motion. The bang, and John fell to the floor. Blood on his leg. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat as he saw John on the ground. Was he breathing, he was bleeding, the police, who shot him, was he alive, what was going on...

He crashed to the ground, holding in tears and holding in everything, checking John's heartbeat and breathing. He was alive, barely. It was all a blur, there was an ambulance and perhaps a police car. He came with the ambulance, but they told him to go home because John was "compromised" and it wouldn't be safe for him to come. He hurried to 221B and ignored Mrs. Hudson's questions. Suddenly he was in his room. And he cried.

He cried because he should've known, he should've known sooner because he was the smart one. He cried and fell on the floor and curled up because his John was somewhere in a hospital and he didn't even tell him he loved him, and what if he died and Sherlock lost him. What if John died and all Sherlock had was memories and even those had to be deleted, even the happiest and liveliest moments had to be deleted. What if John died and his chair was empty and it would never be filled, and the only person in the world who Sherlock loved and who loved Sherlock truly was gone. What if John died, and how would Sherlock survive that?


	8. Chapter 8: Part 2

**_A/N_**: **_Am I evil? Perhaps. I'm giving you some fluff, to, don't worry. This is just going to be an angst-fluff party rollercoaster thing right here. Have fun!_**

* * *

"Hello, John," Sherlock said walking into the hospital room.

"Sherl," John replied breathlessly. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too." He could hardly contain his smile as he sat down at a chair next to John's bed.

"It's been weird, being the patient," John expressed. "How have you been?"

"Well...did I tell you? My boyfriend's been in the hospital." John feigned surprise.

"Really? What for?"

"He got shot. I dunno if he's going to live or not, so I've been worried," Sherlock said, becoming serious.

"I'm really sorry, 'Lock. I know how it feels, but..." He paused and looked at his boyfriend. "I think I'll live."

"You _think_?"

"I'm sorry, I can't give you any more than that. It's really hard to predict-"

"No, I know. I've been shot too." He nodded, waving his hand.

"Ha. I'm nearly a professional at it." He laughed again and winced, upping his pain reliever intake.

"Yes, well..." Sherlock trailed off, glancing away.

"So! I was thinking."

"That's hardly ever a good thing to do," Sherlock joked.

"I know, it's a bad habit. Anyway, I thought perhaps when I'm able and everything we could go on a...vacation." His voice squeaked and he cleared his throat. "I want to make the most of life right now."

"Don't say that. Don't say that like you're going to die soon. You aren't," Sherlock insisted stubbornly.

"I'm just being realistic. I'm not a genius like you, I can't fall in a particular way so as to save myself. I'm recovering from the bullet, and the trauma that it's brought back from Afghanistan. There's just a lot of things going on in my body right now, and it's a struggle. But I think I'll survive. I'll try to, at least." John said all this with a smile on his face, but Sherlock could see the pain in his eyes. He was just barely surviving.

"But you won't die, it just can't happen. Anywho, a vacation sounds wonderful. Where do you want to go?" The conversation was making Sherlock uncomfortable.

"I was thinking Pembrokeshire. I went there a couple times as a kid and loved it. I want to spend my time there, with you." John sighed. He had accepted somewhat that he might soon die, since he had had a lot of time to think about it. At least he'd been given time to get everything in order, set the record straight, and do the wills.

"How soon do you think you can go?"

"I'd love to go anytime. But the doctor said a little more than two weeks, as long as I don't have any infections or anything. I don't know about traveling, though. And there was also a lot of bleeding that happened, so I have to recover from that as well. Basically, it will be a while."

"That's great!" Sherlock smiled, a handsome and loving smile that John had missed greatly.

"Yeah, well, it's hard to think about. And when I do leave, it might be in a wheelchair."

"What?!" This surprised the detective. He hadn't known much about the wound, but...a wheelchair. The thought of John spending his life in a chair, not being able to keep up in their adventures, pained him.

"Only for a few months, probably. Just so I don't have to put pressure on the wound and it can heal without any problems." John was incredibly calm. He must've known for a while.

"I'd love to stay and talk, but I want to bring you some food and your laptop and things, so I'm going to go."

"Oh. Okay," John said, his face falling. He hadn't even thought about him leaving. He wanted him here always, even if they weren't talking, even if it was just him sitting on his laptop or something. He nodded and Sherlock walked out of the door.

* * *

The next two weeks were filled with visits and healing. For the week after that, the two delivered the painful task of creating wills and talking to family and friends about the situation. Finally, they managed to finish up the work long enough to take a vacation.

It was difficult getting John into the car with his wheelchair, since neither of them had any experience with it, but it was easily folded up and they were on the way. It was silent in the car for a while as Sherlock concentrated on his driving and John looked out the window.

"Is your leg doing okay?" Sherlock asked cordially.

"Which one?" They both laughed. "Yeah, it's doing fine. It still hurts, of course, but I'm on the pain medication so it's okay." He rolled down the window and let the air blow through his hair.

"Nice car, isn't it? Mycroft can always provide a car when I'm in need," Sherlock said, rolling down his own window. "Do you want to roll down the top?" John looked at him in surprise.

"This is a convertible?"

"Yeah, it's all high-tech, since Mycroft often needs that sort of thing," he explained.

"Sure!" He smiled as Sherlock pressed a button and the top rolled down with a few beeps. "Woo-hoo!"

"I've never understood that expression. 'Woo-hoo.' Why would you say that?" Sherlock asked. John smiled.

"It's an expression of pride, happiness. Sometimes you just want to shout into the air and let your voice carry on for miles."

"That's so..." The detective laughed. "Poetic."

"How so?"

"I don't know. It just is."

"Well put."

"Oh, shut up," Sherlock laughed out, kissing his boyfriend on the cheek unexpectedly.

It felt wrong to be happy in the face of the dying.

* * *

John and Sherlock arrived at a small cottage they had rented after a few hours. It was nice and homey, with quilts and pictures of the landscape of the town in each room. There was just a bedroom, bathroom, parlor, and small kitchen, but it was beautiful enough for the two. They settled in, unpacking and having some snacks.

"Do you want to go out to eat tonight?" John suggested, lying on the couch and watching Sherlock chew on some pretzels at the table.

"Sure," he replied, swallowing. "And I want to see the sunset tonight. It's supposed to be beautiful." John put on a mocking face of surprise.

"Beautiful? I didn't think you were much for pretty things. I like a good sunset, but..." He smiled.

"How could I not love beautiful things, being in love with you?" Sherlock asked, hugging his boyfriend from behind. "And anyways, I love a good sunset every once in while. I never notice them much at home." John looked up, his face nearly brushing the other's.

"Here's home. Anywhere with you is home," he said, giving him a peck on the lips.

"Yes." He was dazed for a second, then stood quickly. "Well, let's go home to a restaurant. It's 6:00 already."

They drove to a small tavern called Spotty's, right on the shore. The food was salty and delicious and the building was filled with the familiar sound of sizzling meat and drunken calls. They left the restaurant with bursting bellies and were soon faced with the problem of getting John into the sand safely.

"Just go down to the shore. I'll be fine," John insisted.

"No, I want you to come with me..." Sherlock examined body and chair, trying to think of some way to do this without getting stuck. "I'll carry you."

"You what?!" But the detective was already tucking his hands under John's back and knees and lifting. He relaxed in the strong, pale arms.

"It's okay, you aren't too heavy," Sherlock insisted. His voice was breaking, and his eyes were filling with tears.

"Are you okay?"

"I just...I hate seeing you broken." John wrapped his arms around the other's neck and kissed his chest. They sat down in the dry sand.

"Sherlock, I was thinking about my death and coming out and my blog and the publicity, and...this is abrupt. I want to come out to the world."

"Oh."

"I want you to be okay with it," John added.

"Well, I'm not. Publicity is the main reason it was easy to shoot you, and if we come out we'll get loads more. It won't be satisfactory for your healing process. You need a low-stress environment."

John looked out at the picturesque sunset on the beach. It turned the sand crisp and golden, and the waves glistened. He reached out and patted Sherlock's hand next to him.

"I love you, 'Lock, but if I do die soon, I want to do it knowing that people knew I loved you. If I have to tell my secrets in my dying hours, so be it, but I want them out."

"Don't..." Sherlock winced and took his boyfriend's limp hand. "Don't say that. Don't talk about you dying."

"And why the hell not? Denying it won't make it go away. I want to be ready for death, and I don't want any secrets to die with me."

"So you're going to tell all your secrets, 'just in case'?" Sherlock was becoming angry at his boyfriend for bringing up his own death so much, so nonchalantly.

"I'll put my secrets in my will, Sherlock. Our love-our love is not a secret. People know about it, the people we care about and love. And I think people who care about us and love us should know it. People on my blog, people taking pictures of us...they care about us in some strange way, and they deserve to know this."

"I don't want that kind of publicity. Do you know how many homophobic idiots exist in the world? People who didn't even know who we were would target us. I don't need any more death threats, John, and you can't get shot again, I just won't allow it." Sherlock turned away, embarrassed that he had been brought to his figurative knees by this human error within him.

"Forget your concern for me," John ordered. "I want _your_ problems with it."

"People will target us, John. Sorry, they'll target _me_. I would be okay with people knowing, but the risk factor always plays into it." Sherlock tried to be sensible and logical but it was hard for him to talk about something that involved John being hurt.

"Okay," John said, deciding to let it go. "I'll leave it for another time."

"Thank you," Sherlock said, and they sat in silence as the sun set quietly.


	9. Chapter 9: Part 3

**_A/N: The first scene in this part is inspired by a Tumblr post I saw... I don't know who made it but I really liked the headcanon and I went for it. So I just wanted to say that._**

**_I don't own any of these amazing characters. Also, I'm not British so sorry if they sound American._**

* * *

The two men lay on the couch in the parlor, John atop Sherlock with his feet next to the taller man's head and his head near his abdomen. Sherlock read the Agatha Christie aloud and John played with his curly, dark hair.

"It's Pwah-rho, 'Lock," John corrected as his boyfriend stumbled over the French name. "Hercule Poirot."

"Do you want to read it?" Sherlock asked frustratedly, pointing the book towards John.

"No, it's fine."

"I'm tired. I'm going to relax for a while. You can read if you want." Sherlock handed the book to John reluctantly, settling into the couch. They sat in silence a bit and Sherlock retreated to his mind palace.

John smiled. He had been doing this for a while, when he really began to take interest in Sherlock romantically. He waited for the detective to retreat fully into God-knows-where, then shifted ever so slightly so that he could get his face to the other's and kissed him. He had figured out a long time ago that the genius couldn't tell what was going on around him when he was really concentrating. His lips moved slightly, as if responding to the kiss, and suddenly he was kissing back. John retreated quickly, surprised and frightened. Sherlock opened his eyes, his lips twitching into a lazy smile.

"I'm...I'm sorry," John said.

"Don't be. I'd like more," Sherlock said, leaning over and kissing John on the lips profusely.

"Have you known all along?" John ventured between snogs.

"Not all along. I'd known there was something going on, and when I found out it was a kiss, well..." Sherlock smiled mischievously and pecked John on the jaw.

"Well what?"

"I don't go to my mind palace _that_ often, you know."

The kissing continued for who knows how long.

* * *

"Let's go out," John proposed as he smoothed out his damp hair in the bathroom mirror.

"Okay," Sherlock replied, peeking into the restroom. "Where to?"

"Around town. I'd love to go biking, but..." He looked down at his leg with reluctance. "I'm not in the best of positions to do that."

"Ah, yes. Well, we can...go shopping?" It was essentially a question, as Sherlock wasn't sure exactly what his boyfriend preferred to do when in a smaller town like Pembrokeshire. John smiled.

"Yes, and we can go for lunch and dessert. I've been eyeing that little ice cream parlor on the corner of Elmer." John stepped out of the bathroom. "How do I look?"

"Marvelous as always, dear," Sherlock replied, beaming. He stepped in to dry his hair. When he got out, the two strolled into the kitchen to eat.

"Do you want a bagel?" John ventured to his boyfriend, who constantly ate only toast.

"Toast." He sighed and let Sherlock lay on the couch lazily as he prepared a breakfast for the both of them.

"Did you bring your violin?" John asked as he brought the two plates to the couch.

"I did," he replied.

"You ought to play it. I haven't heard you playing any here." The soft sound of Sherlock's violin always soothed him, bringing him to happy memories of 221B and Sherlock himself.

"I haven't played it in a while. I don't know why. When I used to play it, there was a sort of buzz. It felt alive. But now it seems to have died." Sherlock turned to his boyfriend. "How do you suggest I resurrect it, of sorts?"

"Play something you love," John advised. "Something that brings a memory of something good." The violinist looked uneasy. The song that he held closest to his heart, his favorite and the one that brought the best memories, was sacred. He had only played it ever when he knew John and Mrs. Hudson were fast asleep, and he would have no interruptions or anyone listening.

"I could play my Waltz for John and Mary, but I feel it might bring back bad memories for the both of us."

"Bad? For you?" John asked in a fit of ignorance.

"Yes," Sherlock said, not elaborating. Then, after a few moments of silence, he continued. "That night was one of the most painful of my life."

"Ah," he replied, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry. I've never really said that but I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault. Well, it is, but...it doesn't matter. We're together now."

"No, it does matter. It completely matters. I was...insane. I loved you but I knew that Mary was the easier choice. I was selfish and cruel and I could see that you were hurting but..." A tear rolled down his tan face, and Sherlock's heart lit up with sadness.

"John, it isn't your fault. I will always love you, and that night was painful but you were happy and that was enough." He wrapped his arms around the smaller man.

"I love you too, Sherlock. I won't ever stop, while my heart's beating and my lungs are breathing, I'll never stop loving you."

"Never?"

"Never," John replied truthfully.

"Never."

"Never."

They repeated this mantra in each other's arms, rewinding and replaying. Sherlock decided that the song he held closest to his heart, his most sacred composition, the one he had written purely for John, would be called "Never."

* * *

"I left in the middle of the night, when John couldn't hear. I left silently, like a feline. No one awoke, not John or the landlady or anyone. I walked out of 221B, leaving a note: 'This is for John. I love you. I can't handle this anymore. Goodbye.' Selfishly, I wanted him to see it and perhaps feel guilty for never loving me. And I left.

"The taxi driver didn't ask me what I was doing. He just took me to the airport. I didn't pay him. It was one o'clock, and there were a few weary travelers left in the airport. I had already bought my ticket online, and with barely any lines it was easy to get to the waiting area quickly. I decided to leave John a voice message, too. So that he could hear my voice even when I was gone, him being the sentimental type. I said, 'Hello John. You may be confused as to my whereabouts. It doesn't matter. I needed to escape you, and that is what I am doing right now. I'm about to board a flight to America. I don't know what I'll do there. Ask my brother; he might know. John, I love you. But you're married, and there are so many complications. I need to escape loving you, and this is how I'll do it. I may never answer my phone again. I want to start a new life. I love you, John. Goodbye.'

"That was all I left. I boarded the plane, alone, and slept on the way there. In America, I started a new life. I missed John desperately. He never called. I wondered if he had heard my voice mail at all. I wondered if he cared. It didn't matter now.

"Four years later, I decided to pay a visit to 221B. John would be angry, everyone would be angry. I boarded a flight to London and knocked on good old 221B's door. Our landlady answered. All she did was to nod and invite me in. Tears were welling up in her eyes, and she looked more angry than anything. I stepped in and strolled upstairs.

"John was waiting there. He sat in his chair, reading the newspaper. I wondered if he had even noticed I was gone. He looked up and I knew that he had.

"'Look, I'm sorry,' I began, but he didn't care. He stood and grinded his teeth.

"'I didn't call,' he said, 'because I thought you were lying to me. I thought you had died. I thought you had committed suicide. I wanted to block memories of you out, and I ignored your absence. But Sherlock, I've loved you for so long. I've loved you since I met you. You changed my life, Sherlock, and I love you.'

"I nodded solemnly and stepped toward him. How should I do this? I kissed him slowly on the lips. He kissed back, fortunately. I smiled against his lips and we just kissed for a while, our lips interlocking like puzzle pieces."

"WHAT ARE YOU READING?!" Sherlock demanded, storming into the parlor with his trousers half on, apparently coming from the bathroom. John smiled.

"Did you know people write fanfiction about the two of us?" John asked, chuckling. "Actual fanfiction."

"Yes. The so-called 'ship' between us two is called Johnlock. You don't know how many websites are dedicated to fanfiction, it's bizarre," he replied, pulling on his trousers.

"How do you know?"

"I am a nerd, you know."

"I know. But I didn't know you were _that_ kind of nerd." Sherlock smiled jovially and winked.

"There are many things you don't know about me."

"You're probably a sex god, too."

"Well..."

"Oh, come on," John said, closing his laptop. "That's what I've been missing all this time?"

"It was a joke. I have an aversion towards coitus."

"Unfortunately," John replied with a grimace. "You are really sexy, you know. And unattainable."

"You're sexy too, John. I just despise the idea of penetrating, or being penetrated. I'm not asexual, exactly. It just kind of disgusts me."

"That's fine. I'll just keep jacking off in the shower and crossing my fingers." Sherlock winced at the vulgar language and sat down.

"So, I'm ready to go. What about you?" John set down his tea and nodded.

"I am. How about it?"

"It's almost time for lunch. We could walk down to More, Please," he suggested.

"Mmm. I can practically smell the grease from here," Sherlock sassed.

"Or-"

"I'm kidding, it sounds fine."

"Then the ice cream parlor. And who knows from there."

"Sounds wonderful. Let's go." So they stopped planning and John got into his wheelchair and they were on their way.


	10. Chapter 10: Part 4

More, Please had a wheelchair ramp, which saved them from having to move on. They got a table and sat down, getting comfortable.

"My name is Joseph if you need anything," a waiter said as he arrived at the table. "For now, what would you like to drink?"

"A coffee, please," Sherlock requested. John glanced over the beer menu and looked up.

"A Woodchuck cider, thanks." Joseph nodded and listed off the specials, then left.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" Sherlock insisted, looking over the menu.

"No, why?" he replied, taking a sip from his water.

"He's gay, obviously, you can tell by the cologne, and he was definitely checking you out. Ignore it, he's in an unhappy relationship with a banker and he's cheating on him," Sherlock informed politely. John chuckled at his boyfriend's jealous behavior.

"You don't have to worry about losing me to a waiter, Sherlock." The taller man looked shocked.

"I'm not worried about losing you, John, I'm worried about the likes of him taking you."

"There's really no difference, now is there? It's fine, I'll ignore it." Sherlock looked back at his menu, embarrassed.

"Good." The two men examined their menus until Joseph returned with their drinks.

"Are you ready to order?" They nodded. "Okay, what would you like, Mr. Watson?"

"How do you know my name?" John asked, taken aback.

"You're in the newspapers, aren't you? Famous Sherlock Holmes and his hot colleague, John Watson." John shuddered at the number of people who seemed to know who he was. "Why are you in a wheelchair?"

"Sorry, but it isn't your business," John said, smiling sarcastically. "I'd like the MP burger, please." Sherlock shivered. _Hot._

"Okay. And what about you, Mr. Holmes?"

"Shrimp fillet, please. And John's taken." _You just couldn't help yourself, could you?_ John thought, infuriated. _You _had_ to go and get jealous and ruin everything._

"Um, Sherlock," John said, kicking his boyfriend under the table. Sherlock nodded. Joseph looked between them, confused.

"I wasn't trying to make the moves on him, if that's what you're suggesting," he said slowly. "I'll get those orders in." He left and John took this opportunity to chastise Sherlock.

"Sherlock, you can't get jealous like that. Sure, it's hot, but you're going to give us away."

"Who cares if we give ourselves away? As long as no one is flirting with you I don't give a shit." The man was obviously as angry as John was, balling and unballing his fists and clenching his cheekbones.

"Oh, now you're on my side, eh? You don't want to put us in danger, but if anyone flirts with me it's a no-no. Sherlock, you don't seem to understand that I am in love with you, and no stupid waiter is going to keep me from that," John insisted angrily.

"I want people to leave us alone, and that won't happen if we come out."

"They will leave us alone in the way you want them to."

"No, they won't. I want them to leave us alone at all. I want to be normal, John." Sherlock shook with fury and frustration, but kept his voice low.

"That just can't happen," John insisted.

"We can work out a-"

"No, Sherlock we can't. We just can't. And I'm sorry but we will never live normal lives together, I can't and you can't. We both crave the adventure, the unexpected. Perhaps we can try to die down, but people will know our names. We have to make our decisions based on that."

"I don't want to." John shivered. He didn't want to play mummy anymore for this pathetic child. Sherlock didn't understand you just can't have it your way all the time.

"Then move to the bloody moon! You've started this, and we're going to live like this, so if you don't want this, then-" John stopped abruptly. He was lucky no one was snapping his picture, he couldn't draw attention to himself like this.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock looked down. He could feel the awful burn in his nose that meant the blurry vision and that meant crying. "I'm not good enough for you."

"That isn't true. Come on, eh?" John stroked Sherlock's cheek and he looked at his rough hand.

"No, I'm not. I am a child." John nodded.

"Yeah, you are. But I love you anyways, you know? And I always will. I'll never stop."

"Never?" John smiled as the word began to work magic on Sherlock, who looked up hopefully.

"Never." Sherlock nodded, regaining control of himself.

"Never," he repeated.

The food came, and for a while they were caught up in the greasy deliciousness. Neither of them said much except "Pass me a napkin" and "Mmm."

"Do you like it?" Sherlock inquired.

"It's fantastic, what about you?"

"Delicious." He sounded angry.

"Look, Sherlock, I want to resolve this," John began.

"No, we aren't going any further," Sherlock replied stubbornly.

"Yes, we are."

"In a restaurant? If we settle this, we need to do it at the house, in private."

"I don't want this constant barrier between us," John explained. "I can't go through an entire meal just exchanging small talk. You know I hate it. I hate just sitting here and not getting anywhere in our relationship."

"Okay," Sherlock surrendered. "Go on."

"I want to come out to the public because we can't hide anymore. I hate this, that there is this huge thing about us the media doesn't know. I'd like to come out."

"Why are you pressuring me into this?" Sherlock asked, restrained.

"I don't want to pressure you. That's why I'm talking to you about it. If you're totally against it, that's a different thing. But if there's something holding you back, out with it." Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I feel like it is something in our private lives that shouldn't be shared with the media. If we keep it secret, we keep it sacred." John nodded.

"Sometimes you are so sentimental, Sherlock."

"Nonsense, I simply want to keep things sacred which need to be sacred."

"If we're talked about - which I will tell them to fuck off if they need a little push - then, big deal. Our love is strong enough to endure it, I believe."

"I think it's strong enough too, I just..." Sherlock looked away in frustration. "It feels like in grade school when you had a crush on someone but you didn't want to tell anyone because it was so close to your heart..."

"Why are you ashamed of this?" John cried.

"I'm not ashamed! I'm...I'm vulnerable. I do not like emotion, John, it makes me uncomfortable just to _feel_, and if anyone found out who had a bone to pick with me - which is pretty much anyone - I'd be dead. I would have shed a coat of armor they desperately wanted off. That's why. It's putting both of us in more danger than ever."

"Okay. You make a fair point. But...okay," John said, nodding. "How do you think we could keep that away? We die down, we shrink away. Then we come out. On my blog, whatever, it doesn't matter. I want the least danger possible, but I do want to tell the public."

"People will always know our names, though. We will always be in the backs of their minds. I don't want to be anywhere in anyone's mind I do not know."

"That's true. It always will be," John explained. "On a completely different topic, a few days after we leave here we have to go on one of the smaller talk shows. I'm going to have to say something about my wheelchair, they aren't going to ignore it."

"I still can't believe you didn't put it in your blog, it seems so important."

"Well, it's like you, it makes me feel vulnerable. Not something I enjoy sharing. Anyway, how do you suppose I'll explain?"

"Do you want to tell the truth?" Sherlock asked calmly, taking a bite of his food.

"I don't know. Would it be safe?"

"The police are on the case, obviously, but the more people who know about it the more will see that they have the opportunities to possibly..." He glanced at the wheelchair. "...injure us."

"Because someone has already gotten a chance, more people will want to."

"Precisely."

"Well, what else do you suggest?" John asked. "I mean, what lies are most believable and safest?"

"That you were in a car accident and got hit or something is probably the best choice. It's believable, and most wouldn't expect it to be sabotage. I'd go with that."

"Okay. And, Sherlock, if anyone, _anyone_, hits on me before we come out, I'm going to come out right then and there. Alright?"

"We aren't going to come out, but...okay."


	11. Chapter 11: Part 5

_**A/N: hello again! I'm so sorry about the hiatus. I was on vacation, etc., but I'm back now. Read on!**_

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, you're here," the blonde girl said as the two men walked (and rolled) into the studio for their interview. She had a microphone headset on, and she murmured something into it before directing them on where to go. "You're a bit early, but that's good because it means we can get everything checked and double-checked."

"Yeah, we weren't sure when to be here," John said.

"That's alright," she said. "I'm Ellie, by the way."

For the next thirty minutes they were shown where to stand, what questions they would be asked, and other technicalities.

"Remember it will be live," John reminded Sherlock. "Don't say anything too stupid. Let me do most of the talking." Sherlock nodded.

"That's probably best." They sat in their respective chairs across from the host, Paul Tenet. Ellie did the countdown and they were on air.

"Hello everyone," Paul greeted, eyes fixed on the camera. "I have here Mr. Sherlock Holmes, famous detective, and his colleague Dr. John Watson."

"Hello."

"Hi."

"Now, I'm going to address the elephant in the room first, to get that out of the way. John, what are you doing in a wheelchair?" he asked, leaning in.

"I was in a car accident. Now, the chair isn't permanent, so you don't have to worry about it too much."

"Oh, good," he said, exhaling in sarcastic relief and leaning back in his chair. John laughed mildly. "Now, Sherlock, how did that make you feel, with your friend and flatmate in the hospital?"

"It was obviously... off-putting." Paul chuckled slightly. "I know what it's like to be in the hospital, and I missed him as much as I pitied him because he had to be there, helplessly imprisoned." Paul's smile fell a bit, and John shook his head minutely at Sherlock.

"I wouldn't say helplessly imprisoned..." John began. "I've been in the hospital before, it wasn't too big of a deal."

"You got shot, for heaven's sake!" Paul cried benevolently. John laughed, nodding his head.

"Fair point."

"So, Sherlock," the host said, becoming serious. "It's been a while since the Reichenbach scandal, but I do want to talk about it. It's the kind of thing that sticks in your head, you know?"

"Of course."

"Why exactly did you fake your death? It's not something that happens quite often."

"That's confidential, I'm sorry," Sherlock replied.

"Oh, that's a shame," Paul said, exaggerating disappointment. Sherlock smirked.

"Isn't it?"

"Well, John, I'll ask you then, how did he tell you that he was alive?" John smiled uneasily and shifted in his seat.

"Well, I was with my soon-to-be fiance, Mary, and Sherlock dressed up as a waiter and came over while I was trying to propose to her." Paul cracked up, and John attempted a laugh too, knowing fill well this was his least favorite story to tell. Sherlock looked on in reverence while his boyfriend continued.

"So here I was, nervous as hell trying to make this speech for Mary, and Sherlock waltzed in with some bottle of wine and I remember looking at him and thinking, 'what the hell am I on?'" Mr. Tenet was overcome with a laughing fit again. "And then I grappled him to the ground because, now that I knew he was alive, I wanted to kill him."

"That was terrifying," Sherlock laughed. He looked at John and there was an immediate awkward silence as they (sort of) accidentally stared deeply into each other's eyes. Paul became extremely uncomfortable.

"You two! Wake up!" He chuckled uneasily as they were startled out of the reverie. "Should I leave?" he asked, standing.

The two men laughed with each other. "Should we tell him?" John half-whispered to Sherlock.

"What, really?!" They laughed again as the studio audience began to clap. Paul turned to the camera. "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, everyone!" He pumped his fists with every word: "Johnlock! Is! Canon!"

_Ohmygod, _John thought. _What have we done?_

* * *

**_A/N: Ha! Cliffhanger! Bet you weren't expecting that! Our maybe you were. Anyways, please review! I don't know if I'll continue this story or leave it like this... tell me what you prefer. Now, so wasting your time on author notes and go bathe in the many johnlock fanfictions in which you could be partaking! Go on!_**

**_Sarah_**


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